Fissures
by lifeincantos
Summary: Wise words propose that every story is a love story. Whether or not that's true, they manage to tangle in and fill each others' broken parts.
1. Trite

**Fissures**

_Wise words propose that every story is a love story. Whether or not that's true, they manage to tangle in and fill each others' broken parts._

* * *

_Chapter One; Trite_

Katniss' shoulders were aching. Muscles that had gone soft over a year of restricted use protested this new change in routine. Sweat pooled at the small of her back and more than one bruise had blossomed across her arms and ribs. Her heart was still pounding and her breath was better used in _breathing_ than talking.

She almost smiled.

But her expression remained drawn; lips pulled tight at the corners, eyes dark and shaded and back set in a stiff posture. There was no room in her life- no room in her body or mind- for a moment of jocularity. Every move she made was made with a purpose that defined her life. Every step spoke rigidly and without hesitation; _I am Katniss Everdeen_. _I am the winner of the Seventy Fourth Annual Hunger Games. I am going to win again_.

Only when she glimpsed the back of a familiar blonde head did she slow. Destination, motivation, and purpose did not sway, but the frostiness of her countenance softened a hair. She released a breath and let her shoulders drop as she pivoted on her heel and made a bee-line for her co-champion.

_Hers_. If only Snow could feel the fire of possessiveness that burned in her belly when her gaze fell on Peeta Mellark, perhaps he might reconsider his terms and conditions he'd printed on love's tin. It was certainly the strongest thing that Katniss understood outside of Prim and Gale, and she had assumed that would be enough.

Not for him, though.

Then again, maybe _nothing_ was enough for President Snow.

She extended a hand as she drew closer, ready to catch Peeta's attention and pull him aside. But a shadow blotted her vision and caused her to stumble to a stop. Instincts kicked in instantly and she was reaching for a bow that she did not have when a rumble of laughter alerted to just whose presence she was in.

"- _Odair_," she threw out curtly by way of greeting. Said boy stepped in front of her, and over his shoulder Katniss saw Peeta turn to look at the them. His expression was inscrutable, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

"_Everdeen_." Where her tone rang with accusation, his was alight and alive with laughter. When she looked back up at him, it seemed like every inch of his face was _delighted_. She arched an unimpressed eyebrow.

He was going to make her talk first- for whatever unfathomable reason he'd conjured. "_Yes?_" She refused to give the insufferable champion an inch, but if her waspish response had any effect on him he didn't show it. Instead, he simply rested one hand on his hip and gave her a look that Katniss assumed had wooed many a lucky lady in the Capitol.

She crossed her arms and took a half-step back, light enough to make no sound on the hard floor.

"If you haven't noticed, we don't have the luxury of _time_."

He laughed again, this time open and loud enough to make her flinch. Dropping his arm, he affected a gentler pose. "Duly noted, Miss Everdeen." His smile was no less radiant, but it too had fallen into something a little less- _pompous_.

"Can you get on with it?" Katniss snapped, biting her bottom lip to prevent herself from any more outbursts. Finnick merely seemed amused.

"For the lady? Of course." He winked. Katniss ignored him. Not missing a beat, he swept his hand out towards her. "Would you do me the pleasure of attending our last supper with me?"

_That_ was fairly unexpected. Fairly because even their first brief meeting had given Katniss the overwhelming impression that Finnick Odair was not one to avoid Grand Gestures accompanied with as much frivolous fanfare as possible. So she was only caught off guard for a moment- not something she was happy with but even she had to admit it could be worse.

"I have plans," she ground out, stepping neatly around him and stalking to where Peeta was standing. Possibly waiting for her, or simply caught up in the ridiculousness that was Odair. She knocked her elbow against his and walked away, clearly a sign for him to follow. His overly-loud, careless footsteps behind her indicated that he understood.

_He's going to need a refresher course_.

Katniss refused to turn back and glance at the man she'd left in her wake. Chances were he was still grinning like an idiot, but she wanted to picture a dumbstruck expression on his face. Perhaps crestfallen, though that was hard to conjure even in her own imagination.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.


	2. Odds

_Chapter Two; Odds_

Something that felt but didn't look like night ghosted over the arena in a way that made Katniss restless. It was as if the world wasn't behaving like it should- but she told herself, repeatedly, that was likely the plan. There was something wrong with this playing field, there was something wrong with this game yes- but there was something wrong with this _world_ sacrificing its children for an insurrection nearly a century prior.

Everything conflicted. Her head pounded.

_Everything_ conflicted. She felt Peeta's presence beside her, alive. As was she- two victors from a game whose purpose was to allow _one_ to survive. Two victors who refused to buckle under the weight of nightmares and phantom blood on their hands and the images of eyes and limbs and dead bodies that would never leave.

She reached out, fingers hesitantly refusing to stretch fully. Her courage flagged less than halfway there and Katniss dropped her arm, letting her palm rest on the jungle floor. _And we're supposed to be madly in love_. She was meant to be carrying this boy's child. And she couldn't even summon the bravery to stroke his arm.

Beyond Rue's still chest or Glimmer's eyes sparkling in the Muttation, it was the drawn look of hurt that had consumed Peeta's face that tortured her, even now. Given time and space and fresh air to breathe, Katniss still wasn't sure if her facade could ever become real- let alone under the pressures of the Capitol. Here, in this place so deep and dark and loud, the very idea was an impossibility.

An unspoken apology tasted bitter on her tongue, so she simply turned away and folded her legs up against her chest. One arm draped over her knees, the other hung by her side with her palm still resting against the moist dirt of the jungle floor.

Without really meaning to, her eyes fell to Finnick's back. Even turned to her, he was still, well, _radiant_. The commentators weren't wrong; Finnick Odair exuded seduction and flippant indolence even when he was quiet. Quiet and perched beside Mags the way Katniss was beside Peeta, his head was bowed but not bent; there was no pressure keeping it down, and he looked attentive rather than burdened.

Katniss couldn't help the pride that flickered in her chest- perhaps after so many women, even his mentor didn't warrant the pain he didn't like to suffer.

Then, of course, she wanted the earth to swallow her whole.

_Maybe I was wrong about myself. Maybe I am evil_. The idea was thought with no bitterness- just a burning shame and exasperation; one more thing at conflict with itself. One more thing to keep her head swimming and not in the game. One more thing to get her killed.

"Katniss?" She hadn't noticed Finnick sidle up beside her- _again_. Was he destined to be the breach in her defenses? At this rate, she should have rightfully died _yesterday_. Insufferable. Intolerable.

"What?" It came out harsher than she'd intended, and even she had to wince at its sharpness. Her eyes were drilling a hole in her kneecap so she couldn't be sure if Finnick reacted; chances were good that he hadn't, but if she could provoke him a fraction of what he did to her, that should be counted as a success.

When he replied, his voice was as even as it ever was. More even than it should have been in the thick of the Quarter Quell.

"Nothing in particular. I just figured we should regroup."

Her eyebrows shot up. The suggestion was almost _pragmatic_. Flippant and coated in that special Odair charm, but it was sensible and that in and of itself was shocking. She realized that she was staring at him, and she hurried to glance away. Not fast enough- she still managed to see how amused he looked at her apparent surprise.

_Damn it._

He chuckled. "I know, I know. I'll just have to deprive my fans of our forbidden tension for a bit, Everdeen. My apologies." The last, she realized belatedly, wasn't directed at her. He shot a wink to some spot in the sky- not that he knew where the cameras were.

_Then again, they're everywhere_. She scowled and drew a deep, steadying breath before turning back to him.

"Shut up," the succinct reprimand came, this time not as biting but still low and full of authority. A peak sideways confirmed that he was making a lip-locking motion. _Like a five year old_. Even Prim had never done that in the time before their family had fallen apart.

"Alright. We'll plan." She grabbed one of the sticks they'd collected in case they had a need to build a fire- but were also convenient for drawing maps in the soft earth. That was her intent at the moment, but something else was nagging at her and her arm refused to move to sketch out anything.

Katniss looked away again. "-Just... Why?"

Finnick was silent for a long moment. Long enough to signify that something was wrong- to prompt her to move her gaze until she glimpsed his chin, then the corner of his mouth. Katniss was struck for a resounding second by how _soft_ he looked, silhouetted against the orange artificial sky. It by all means should have made him look hard, chiseled, cut from stone and worn from the Games like they all were. But in that moment, she was looking at Prim. At Peeta the day he saw her in the rain. At her mother in the days of shock following her father's death.

Then he grinned and he was Finnick Odair again. Chipped at the edges by life but still whole and hale enough to cause the ladies to fall at his feet and convince themselves they were, in fact, his one true love.

"Why what, Everdeen? Why am I so devilishly handsome? Why is my Game-approved clothing so revealing? Why-"

"_Don't make me say it._"

Darkness flashed across his face, but this time Katniss resolutely held him in her sights. Her eyes narrowed, and he was a goose about to fall at the end of her arrow.

He knew.

"Isn't it obvious?"

_Obviously __**not**_, she thought vehemently.

"_Why_?"

"You're the most recent winner- _winners_. That makes you the strongest. You're a good bet to hedge."

Ice flooded her veins. Her neck stayed frozen in position, eyes wide open in a blatant stare she made no move to control as unwise as that might be. Katniss' hands- one on her knee, one on the ground- were lined with something so heavy that they went numb. She tried to swallow but there was something stuck in her throat, sharp and multifaceted.

_Poison. Or an insect. Or a tracker jacker_.

"I'm glad you're finally sounding smart," she heard herself say, and then she felt herself move even though it should have been impossible. One leg, and then another until she was laying beside Peeta's sleeping form. His breaths were deep and even and sounded healthy- healthier than the Games should have allowed.

It quelled the storm gathering force in her chest.

"Well you're an inspiring person, Katniss Everdeen," he threw over her turned shoulder, but her ears were already filled with too much buzzing and ringing, and she wasn't even sure if she reminded him to take the first watch.

The air was growing cold in the pseudo-night that passed over the jungle, but the earth was still warm and her flesh was too electrically alive to even feel the difference.

Katniss' body was at odds.

* * *

A/N: These chapters are laid out as chronologically linked one shots, or a fragmented multi-chapter story. Just wanted to put that out there before my style became confusing!

For now this story is going to update on Mondays- that way I have a buffer of chapters so the wait isn't longer! :D


	3. Tides

_Tides_

"You're an idiot."

"I'm aware."

"That was stupid- that was really stupid."

"I'm often very stupid."

"_That_ was stupid."

"I might have to disagree with that."

Katniss caught a glance at her own arm, surprised to remember that her scabs and sores had flaked and begun to heal. Her skin was smoother than it felt, since even now it felt as if the fog was still wrapping its phantom arms around her, filling her lungs and weighing down her limbs and generally dragging her back into the depths of the forest.

But there was no fog, and the saltwater had claimed the vestiges of their injuries, healing what it could and stealing away the rest. Her muscles were still tight, but she was sitting upright and no longer felt like she was half in her grave. It was enough.

Beside her sprawled Finnick; though far from looking relaxed his face was slack, eyes glassy, lips parted as if he didn't have the energy to close his mouth. And that was probably accurate- for more reasons than one. His responses felt light but perfunctory, and though Katniss ventured to think it might help him she could still feel the absence of Mags' weight in her arms, could still see how wild Finnick's gaze was when he saw his mentor's plan.

Even she could feel the loss of the kind old woman; she could only imagine what was happening in the man that had taken it upon himself to help her.

Katniss had a hard time feeling the sting of his words from the other night- _a safe bet to hedge_. Now, hearing the hollowness of his voice, the memory of his flippant response sounded the same. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or a way to distance herself from the reality of the Games, but it didn't hurt anymore. It didn't feel _believable_ anymore.

"... You look like death," she said bluntly, and the laugh he replied with sounded like it had a glimmer of the Finnick she thought she knew. Katniss smiled.

"I'm seeing more zombie than blushing bride before me, Everdeen." Katniss couldn't deny that wasn't true- it wasn't just the fog or the death toll or fear for both Peeta and now Finnick too, it was all of those things and more. It was the fact that even these brief moments of twilight weren't even completely still. They hadn't stopped moving, not even in sleep.

But his comment still elicited a laugh.

"I've done it! I've finally cracked open the stone that is Katniss Everdeen."

"Congratulations on your victory," she replied dryly, trying not to smirk at how ostentatiously he was waggling his eyebrows.

"You're too kind- considering I always knew the odds were in my favor."

The gently happy countenance that had slipped across her features dropped instantly at the playful lilt in his voice- at the words that fell so carelessly from his lips. She distinctly heard herself and Gale in that one sentence, could feel the reassuring weight of a phantom bow in her hands. Could smell the fresh pine that had constituted her happiest memories.

_What am I doing?_ She imagined Gale's face now, pinched and hard looking to mask the hurt and confusion underneath; and then she glanced back at Peeta's prone form- these Games had taken such a toll on his much abused body that she didn't blame him for slipping into sleep so easily. It was preferable, really, and not just because he would argue with her choice to save him this time. No, at least this way she didn't have to see the expression he'd make when he witnessed whatever game Finnick Odair had engaged her in.

That wasn't right- it was a game that she'd subconsciously _chosen_ to play.

_What are you __**thinking**__?_ She wanted to ask, but the words never came. Instead, seeing the weak way his chest rose and fell and the ghosts that haunted his eyes, Katniss felt a curious cracking in her chest that prevented the accusation. There must have been some reason he was like this- no one, not one victor or tribute, escaped this unscathed. After having relied so heavily on anger and stubbornness, did she even have the right to question his choices?

The push and pull in her heart did not relent but her voice was light and even when she spoke. "You should get some rest, Odair."

He didn't listen to her. Apparently, no one listened to her. It wasn't surprising at this point, but she would have preferred if he had- after all, even now as they found a moment of refuge she could still feel him seizing under fingers, too weak to even pull himself into the water. The weight of his body as she and Peeta dragged him to safety was one more tally on the things she'd never forget, and worry still bloomed in her stomach.

Katniss reached out when she saw that he was trying to sit upright, and when she made contact with his shoulder she was struck by how normal it felt. There was no monumental shift or sting of imagined electricity- just the weight that she made sure to take until she was sure that he could sit on his own.

Finnick flashed her a smile rife with gratitude. Katniss thought she was going to be sick.

"I think I'll be fine." No teasing comment on her caring, no flash of false bravado; just a gentle statement of what he wanted to be fact.

_No, you won't_.

She set her jaw when she looked at his face, realizing that if Peeta was to win this, then Finnick Odair would _not_ be fine. That the lady who'd claimed his heart so strongly he'd written poetry for her wouldn't be fine. No one was fine in this world- suffering and trials were so universal that she was beginning to wonder if even Snow himself escaped that inevitability.

Something tangible pulled her away from her thoughts. She flinched even though it didn't take her any time at all to realize that Finnick had worked his hand around hers, fingers sliding around her palm. Her eyes trailed down and then, in a daze, up to his face.

It hit her like spear to the chest, the pain that he was masking. His lips were tight and his smile didn't even look like a smile. The corners of his eyes were wrinkled even more than they had been when they'd started, and his glassy pupils looked more than just sick. The scabs were ashen grey and such a departure from the healthy radiant tan he always sported.

There was something so lost and absent that Katniss felt truly awful that she was able to name it so easily.

"Finnick," She said quietly, moving her fingers to grip his hand in return. "... I'm sorry."

It shouldn't have been said and they both knew it. But he stayed sitting straight as he could, and to his credit he was still grinning. Even if it didn't even convince _him_.

"Hey, it's okay. I- she- she meant a lot to me. But I always knew that _she_ knew that she wouldn't make it. And so she gave me everything she had left. I can't... dishonor her memory with tears. That would be ungrateful."

"_Finnick_." There was more to what he was saying, something darker and deeper and fuller under the surface, and though she shouldn't have asked she had to. "Why did she-?"

He knew exactly what Katniss was going to ask, and he cut her off accordingly. Without warning his face was suddenly an inch from hers, close enough that she could feel the heat of his lips and almost taste the salty brine of sea water. Their breath and an insistent silence bridged the gap that remained physically untouched between their mouths, their cheeks, their eyelashes.

There were no thoughts in this place. Katniss' normally buzzing mind was curiously tacit- so quiet that she didn't even question the quietness itself. Her eyelids dropped and her entire world narrowed into his cheekbone, the planes of his face, his jaw, his lips so cracked and abused-

"_You saved him_."

Her words were spoken without her consent; they tumbled from her lips because they had to. Because she was more than sure that even if this was some ploy to keep her from asking the hard questions there was still a precipice between them now.

She couldn't fall over it.

"Yes."

It took a long while for him to pull back, so she did first. Katniss refused to tremble or let her expression fall, and she refused to let his gaze go either. Even if that meant watching the hardness of his features soften.

Katniss forced her heavy tongue to move. "Thank you." _I love _him- _him who's not Finnick. Or, I'm supposed to, right?_ For some reason she couldn't remember what story she was playing out at the moment; her chest ached for the brilliant clarity of their previous closeness. Pure and wanting.

He chuckled. It was dry and cracked and frayed, but he forced it to make his expression bright. "Anything for you, Katniss."

Somehow, letting go of his hand was more difficult than scaling the metallic shell of the Cornucopia.

"You shouldn't say that."

"I'm a big boy, dear. I can choose my own words."

He laughed, but his voice faded out like the receding tide.

* * *

A/N: This will stick to canon as much as it can, but it will diverge in how a few scenes play out. Review and let me know how you're enjoying it/what you'd like to see!


	4. Interlude Party Crashers

_Interlude; Party Crashers_

"I don't like this."

Peeta sighed lightly, a good-natured slackness in his features. He _should_ have been annoyed with her- this was the _umpteenth_ time that Katniss had made some furtive mention to him with voice or visage that she was not pleased with the growth of what she'd come to see as their team. But through it all there was no tightness in his face or clench in his jaw.

To her credit, she managed to not glare balefully at Johanna Mason every time she had to look at the other girl. Well, woman- she was too old to be a _girl_, but it must have been Finnick's youth that made her assign Johanna to that lot as well. And she was rarely seen without Finnick.

If Katniss needed proof for her irritation, she could have cited Johanna's treatment of Beetee, her rough nature, her vitriolic tone whenever she addressed almost any member of their group. But she had felt this stirring before and it stood out in sharp relief from everything other emotion the Games inspired. It first flared first and strongest for Prim, and in the past year for Peeta. Now it throbbed to a lesser extent when she saw Finnick.

Particularly in the company of _Johanna Mason_.

"You're laughing at me."

"I would never laugh at you, Katniss."

She was seized with the strange desire to hug Peeta in that moment. So familiar and calming was his voice, his demeanor, that she wanted to bask in his clear goodness and never leave. Not until death tore her away at the end of this Quell.

"You're better than me."

"So you're saying _you'd_ laugh at _me?_"

"No."

They covered a few more paces in silence, Katniss' steps light and quick, Peeta's heavier than even before she tutored him due to his false leg. Each uneven _thunk_ resonated in her chest. He was injured and tired and this world was cruel but he was going to live and Katniss couldn't- wouldn't- forget that.

Not even when he interrupted their progress with a question asked low so only she'd hear:

"Do you think there's another reason you don't like her?"

She didn't freeze, didn't pause. Because Katniss had been asking herself that very same question and hearing it spoken aloud by the voice her thoughts resembled so closely felt natural. Expected. And it was easy to answer because Peeta was more an extension of herself than his own separate person.

"God I hope not." Her voice felt like a sheet tearing in two, fibers fraying at the ends of her words. The sound was curiously muffled and yet somehow resoundingly clear, and her mind wasn't fogged or clouded with questions and emotions.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Peeta regarding her profile with his achingly unguarded gaze. For someone who managed to convince an entire nation that their story was true he was endearingly guileless- and that was what sold it, she mused. He managed to lie so flawlessly and sweetly that it seemed as if his front could _only_ be the truth.

_Idiot_, she mentally chastised herself. _Think for once in your life_. This was Peeta Mellark. This was Peeta Mellark and she knew without hesitation that he wasn't lying. Not in any way shape or form- because Peeta's heart was too big to be contained inside of him and Katniss' self-delusion was thin and weak and vanished when confronted with the laws that bound this universe together.

As inevitable as their destruction at Snow's hands was the chest-splintering fact that Peeta loved her.

Without thinking, Katniss reached out. The pads of her fingers teased the inside of his wrist, his forearm, then back down to the heel of his palm. Peeta took no time in seizing her hand, but as sudden and almost clumsy as his reciprocation was, it was also nothing but gentle. As his fingers closed around her, there was a long moment when the world around them sank into silence; drowning silence, head held under the water silence, leaving only room for one sensation- the point of contact they shared.

Katniss squeezed his hand. _I love you_.

In some way, that was true.

Her life was divided into parts. The first was easy- her father and mother and sister. Alive, whole, happy; there hadn't been any fear there. Possibly because she was young and blind to what was coming around the bend but mostly because there were three anchors in her life that seemed immovable and immortal.

The second had emptied her of Katniss Everdeen and remade her- hollow inside but with an armor so think and unyielding that it made her less fragile than she'd been Before. The empty space that used to be her was now comprised of two voices- Prim and Gale. It was both an infinite space and yet only big enough for the two things that snuck inside and tied her to earth.

The third was a maelstrom. Short, violent, dark, confusing, and yet frighteningly clear. The Gale-voice and Prim-voice had curled up enough inside of her to make room for a new anchor. A physical one this time. Her fingers tightened on his wrist, and the heat- familiar, worn, well-versed- was a comfort she luxuriated in.

"I- know how it seems," Katniss' voice cracked every so slightly, and some vague, still-rational part of her mind hoped that her words were quiet enough to escape the microphones and cameras. "But it's not that. I promise you it's not that."

"Katniss-"

"No." It _wasn't_. Because the sensation that howled through her was exactly what she felt with Prim. With Gale, with Peeta. On rare occasions, with her mother.

She wasn't jealous- Katniss was _afraid_.

"He saved you." The statement hung like an anchor between them. Peeta looked away, but she continued, "He saved you and that means I'd be lost if he wasn't here."

Silence curled around them, knotting around her throat and settling between their joined hands. For a long few moments, they walked without speaking. What she had said had been all kinds of unfair, but it had also been _true_. That smiling, sunny, crumpled young man had made sure that Katniss hadn't failed, unwittingly as it was. He'd done what she couldn't have, and his presence was a talisman under her breastbone.

Without warning, Peeta squeezed again. His fingertips brushed her palm in a soothing, circular motion and Katniss was filled with renewed determination, euphoria, at the fact that he would live. To die saving him would be the best use of her life she could imagine in these conditions.

Behind them, Finnick laughed, and the sound dented the warmth that had swelled in her chest.

* * *

**A/N**: Hey all! First of all- thank you for the lovely reviews! They've absolutely made my week and I want to send a big virtual hug to you all!

Secondly, I just want to make a comment about this week's installment. Usually, I try to let my work stand for itself but it's difficult to hold myself back, especially since this is published in parts and not all at once. So a reminder- the narrator's perspective (we're seeing the story through Katniss' lens) and mine as the author are very distinct. This is _not_ a character bashing story. I don't adhere to the idea of anyone being able to "steal" another person romantically, and I don't adhere to the idea that it makes any comment on who you are as a person. Just keep in mind that we are getting all of this from a flawed/skewered voice!


	5. Walls

_Walls_

Prim's screams pierced the veil of Katniss' reality.

She sat bolt upright, even though it had been years since any nightmares managed to take that kind of root in her. Even the nights without Peeta before and after their first Games would end in her laying in bed, eyes wide and glued to the ceiling while she tried to tame her wild heartbeat. But here, where time slipped and slid every which way, there was no way to distinguish between hallucinations and truth in the ambiguous limbo of awareness.

Her hands felt heavy. They looked normal, when she managed to bring her gaze to them, but there was something _in_ them. Some strange material known only in the Capitol that made them impossible to move, and at the same time caused them to tingle painfully. Electrical shocks, invisible barbed wire, it had to be _something_.

_It had to be something_.

She realized belatedly that her breathing was ragged and noisy and it would be obvious to anyone awake that she was too. But the world around her hadn't resolved into recognizable outlines yet, so she couldn't be sure. Nor could she care, not when her sister was keening in pure, undiluted _agony_ in the labyrinth of Katniss' memory. There were no words, not that Katniss could discern at any rate, but that did more to shatter her heart than any plea of _help!_ ever could.

If there was ever a time that her body would dissolve into the jungle floor, this was it. She had no will to fight, no strength to keep her head above water, and if these Games wanted to take her they had a few precious seconds left before the fog of sleep and abject terror lifted and her mind awoke once more.

Shadows came first. What in the world could they be- black lines on the ground? They tripped over roots and plants and settled against her almost scab-free legs. Things, creatures- _no_. Just shadows. They became familiar gradually; a tree branch, the leaf of a fern. And the objects that cast them too were suddenly real again.

Then the people. First Peeta- _always Peeta first_- not a foot away from her. His features were drawn and tight, and it was such a departure from his previous openness that Katniss felt a sting prick her throat. He was on his side, arms wrapped around each other and good leg bent at the knee. Her heavy, immovable hand wasn't as weighted as she had thought, and she reached out to cover the distance, stopping halfway and laying her palm against the ground.

Beetee was close by Peeta, looking uncomfortable even in sleep. But Katniss wasn't familiar with the moods and postures of this man, not like how she was versed in Peeta's, so it could be that he was damaged enough by now to never be comfortable. Not here, not outside- maybe not even in death.

_Stop_. Her mind would not be clear if death stalked her thoughts, so she brushed the thought away and glanced at Joanna Mason. The woman was surprisingly unguarded, arms askew, one leg straight and one bent over it. Her face wasn't so hard in the artificial moonlight, but there were deep, dark bags under her eyes that Katniss had never noticed before.

At first, she thought that Joanna looked unafraid, but that wasn't quite right. Because despite the way she didn't keep her arms tucked or legs taut, there was still an all too familiar heaviness that settled in every joint, every muscle, every twitch of her eyelids. There was no fear but there was also no courage.

Resigned.

That was the word she was searching for.

Katniss wasn't sure if there was a reason she'd saved Finnick for last, but every rational, coherent thought abandoned her when she saw him- outline first, then shades of darkness that were his clothes, his skin, his face.

He was awake.

He was awake and he was staring at her. The whites of his eyes stood out starkly against the beguilingly gentle night. There were traces of red in them that she knew existed but couldn't see from this distance, and as she lost herself in his gaze she realized that she should probably say something.

"Finnick-" she meant to start, but before she could progress past the _F_ sound he held his fingers to his lips. Katniss quieted, but her body wouldn't cooperate beyond that and she couldn't bring herself to move towards him.

But his must have been working better, because without any further ado he was on his hands and knees, tripping over his limbs as he crawled to her side. The last foot of space was bridged by her arm- she grabbed onto his elbow and that was it. Whatever had been damming her up inside burst in a frenzy of color and silence. She grabbed onto his waist, burying her head against his chest as a dry, tacit sobs wracked her frame.

Finnick didn't hesitate. His hands were soft under their roughness and his movements were sure. Natural. He wrapped one hand around her shoulder and held around the ribs with his other. The post had them bending at awkward angles, but any pain had no chance of being felt- it was drowned out by Prim's screaming, even though the Jabberjays were behind that invisible wall that she'd never, even on pains of death, cross again.

He didn't rub her back like she would have for Prim or Gale or Peeta. He didn't whisper reassurances in her ear, he didn't bury his nose in her hair. But there was a warmth that radiated from him so strongly that Katniss was nearly dazzled. That flippant smile she remembered wasn't so flippant anymore. The uncaring way he held his shoulders was burdened, and that charm wasn't _charm_- it was a singular radiance that only Finnick Odair possessed. More identifiable than a footstep or a fingerprint.

She clutched him tighter, the idea of space between them absolutely terrifying.

They sat that way for a long time, completely silent as their insides screamed and wailed. The echoes of her loved ones' cries were loud enough to give her a splitting headache, but the entire time Finnick had her enveloped in his arms- like he could swallow anything and everything that she was. Like he could siphon the bad away, like he was large enough to contain it.

_Don't leave_, she prayed without speaking. He must have understood.

Other things began to invade the space of grief and pain she'd forged- the feel of his chest pressed against her cheek. The sound of his breathing in her ear, the awareness of his arms. His legs, his waist- a person was being built in the maelstrom of her world, piece by piece.

Katniss welcomed it.

There was no jungle here, there was no beach. There was no other person, there was no muttation. There was darkness, but in a way that in another lifetime it might have been pleasant. And there was him. He comprised all the space that wasn't her, and some of it that was. Even as her panic ebbed and her pain receded under the dawning rationality, her death grip on his arms did not loosen. His didn't either.

Now she could feel what was intrinsically his. There was a difference between her trembling his, and it finally struck her that Finnick was shaking too. His movements weren't as instinctive as hers- she realized from the tightness of his muscles that he was actively repressing the tremors that should have been tearing him apart.

Heat stabbed her square in the chest, instantaneous and all-consuming. Finnick, too, must be haunted by the Jabberjays' echoed cries. And by the very real, visceral memory of Mags' final moments. Yet here he was, holding her in a vice-grip that she could barely ask for, at her side when she herself had no idea what she could have- let alone, what she wanted. When her anchor was sleeping not five feet from her and she didn't even know if his was still alive.

When they were both going to die.

But the thought of death didn't scare her all that much anymore. After all, Finnick was resigned to the same fate as she, and here he was- becoming the parts of her world that she couldn't fill.

"_We can't_," she whispered the words grating in her throat. Finnick nodded and tightened his grip.

"_I know_."

"_Please_."

Katniss didn't know what she was begging for, but the rest of the night found her in his grip. He sat with her until the artificial rays of the sun breeched the horizon. And though apologies piled up on her tongue, they didn't spill from her lips. Kept back by the invisible walls of the arena that kept her heart in place, and separated from nearly every person that she knew.

She didn't question how Finnick wound up behind them with her.

* * *

**A/N**: The reviews you guys have been leaving are just so incredibly lovely! I'm so **so** happy that you guys are enjoying it so far! I'll admit I was pretty nervous about that chapter, but it means the world to me that you guys like what I've done so far.

Please continue reviewing! It helps me know that I'm taking this story in the right direction :)

| Reminder: Updates Mondays |

Just for clarification- this chapter takes place the night after the Jabberjays wedge.


	6. Promises

_Promises_

"Locket?"

Katniss didn't mean to startle, and the fact that the now intimately familiar voice of Finnick Odair made her start was embarrassing. An unnecessary, petty, small emotion in the arena where she was going to die but it couldn't be helped and by now she was a bit too tired, too preoccupied, to care. After she flinched, Katniss turned to Finnick and raised a brow.

"Locket?" She echoed his question as a challenge, and Finnick huffed a sigh in response. It was good-natured and just a bit teasing.

"I _was_ right there. I may not have super-hearing like you but I like to think I'm not totally useless."

The quip had been in jest, but her chest tightened all the same. _Not useless. Far from useless_. Unbidden, the memory of his arms around her came to mind- _one night ago? Two? Surely not more than that but time was starting to lose its meaning_- and Katniss was fairly sure that without his embrace she might not have been able to put herself together.

That embrace and Peeta's locket. Which brought her back to the present.

"Don't get too full of yourself there, Odair," she rebutted, tone as light as it would ever be. Neither of them were fooling each other, but both seemed to have decided it was more enjoyable, easier, to pretend. So Finnick laughed.

"Haven't you heard? It's what I do best." Before Katniss' thoughts could spin out to the other things she wanted to ensure that he could do well but never would, he pressed on. "So- locket?"

She snorted and her lips quirked up in a wry sort of grin. "So you think you're entitled to information because...?"

Finnick, who had been sitting about a foot away suddenly shifted closer, bringing his fingers to her cheek to brush away a few errant locks of hair. Katniss froze, eyes wide as his lips ghosted against her ear.

"Don't you remember?" He whispered, breath warm as it tickled her skin. "Secrets are my _talent_."

And then, just as soon as it started, Finnick backed away. His entire face was pinched in delight and it was clear that he was holding back a tremendous laugh. Breathlessness hardened into irritation and indignation in her stomach as a few giggles escaped his lips.

"Oh man, Katniss, you should see your _face_!"

A quick glance confirmed that the pair had garnered the sparse attention of the others. Joanna rolled her eyes in a strange sort of exasperation, Beetee blinked rapidly at them, and Peeta raised a curious eyebrow at her. Katniss shrugged to signal _what can you do_ before she made a shooing motion. He nodded and turned back to Beetee who was resuming ministrations on his specially designed wire. Trying to understand what the inventor was planning soothed him, made him feel as if he had some control over what would happen. Katniss was happy to grant him anything soothing.

It felt so overwhelming normal- all of it. Joanna keeping watch, Beetee working, Peeta learning, and Finnick still laughing at her ruddy complexion. She opened her mouth to give him a tongue lashing when realization dawned.

The darkness had been theirs for as long as they had been in these Games (such a terribly short time, really, and awfully long at the same time). Darkness had kept them safe and offered the illusion of protection from the omni-present prying eyes. But daytime was different. They couldn't afford to forget in the light- not their roles, not their fate. Darkness was for huddling into their combined warmth, daytime was for pressing your scab-covered face against Peeta's to wake him up and laugh at his reaction.

Katniss' jaw clamped shut. She tossed her hair, crossed her arms and turned away from him. The perfect show of haughtiness after being the butt of a practical joke.

Finnick's laugh faded naturally, lapsing in comfortable silence before he inched closer again. Katniss' shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, and she tilted her head to see him in her periphery. Up close and not distracted by his, well his _everything_, she could take in what she knew he'd rather keep hidden. Lines marred his eyes, criss-crossing at the corners. His mouth seemed outlined in weariness, lips set heavily against flushed skin. His posture wasn't carefree, open, or straight. It sagged like the rest of him. Katniss could almost feel the weighty tiredness that tugged on his limbs.

Up close, he didn't fit the picture of normalcy he helped restore.

Then again, she was sure at this point that those things were always present in him. Just hidden better.

"So you're not going to tell me about the locket," he mused gently. Katniss shrugged and he chuckled. "Alright, alright. Damn, Everdeen, no need to get huffy about it. Where's that smile?"

The cruel thing was that she wanted to. Peeta was presenting a challenge now to her plan, Beetee asked for nothing, and Joanna was _Joanna_. But here, partially bisected by his shadow, Katniss wanted to follow his tender encouragement and smile.

_You are going to die_, she told him- herself- mentally. _I will and you will and then what good will smiling do_?

Oblivious to her reassurance, he ventured to look at where her belongings were secured at her waist. The spile and something far more precious.

"So what about that? Want to talk about that?"

She glared at him before rolling her eyes. _Obviously not_.

"Too bad you can't fashion that into a wedding ring. Or one of those promise rings-"

"Shut _up_."

His formerly lulling voice grated on her nerves, and her body instinctively curled around the pearl fastened in its parachute. It was sacred. It was Peeta's, and she refused to taint its purity by whatever this was between her and Finnick. She noticed his expression drop, a little crestfallen, but she was too busy tamping down irritation to question why that might be so. Had it been part of a plan? To engage the Capitol audience, satisfy them without blood? It didn't matter. Some things had to be refused to the lemmings that were glued to their television screen. To Finnick.

"Just making conversation," he replied quietly. She sniffed.

"Then why don't we talk about _Annie_."

Immediately and without question, Katniss realized she'd crossed a line. Though he was usually so skilled at hiding any change in emotion, Finnick's entire flushed complexion blanched white. His lips parted but any words he tried to speak were lost. His arms trembled, fingers jerking into a fist in the beach's sand.

The worst part, Katniss realized, was that she _knew_. She may have been focused on Peeta's survival, may not have picked up on many clues that had been thrown her way through the last Games and these, but she had put the pieces together. The poem, Mags' sacrifice, and most blatantly of all Finnick's own cries of the girl's name in the Jabberjay section of the jungle.

She understood that poor, mad, Annie was kept safe by Finnick's silence. And she realized that whatever he said now would be for naught. Deny and it would hurt her and fail to impress Snow. Admit it and throw Annie to the wolves.

Her stomach felt icy and tight all at once, and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Not for the first time, she wished that she had Peeta's gift with words. He'd know how to fix this; or better yet, he'd know not to say something so damn stupid in the first place.

Because both of them seemed at a loss for what to say, they let the silence speak for them. At least that relieved them of the liability of making things _worse_. So for a few long minutes they watched the seawater lap onto the beach. In and out, in and out. Ebb and flow.

Finnick's voice startled her again.

"Hold onto them."

"-What?"

When Katniss turned to look at him, his expression was far from unkind. It was soft and sad and sweet and her insides flipped.

"Your things. That pearl. Promise me you'll hold onto it?"

The request made no sense. He had done so much to protect Peeta and was so naturally quick on the draw that he should know by now that Katniss had no intention of making it out of the arena alive, right? She gaped at him, bemused. It seemed important to him that she say yes. Katniss had no intention of letting the pearl go, even before he asked her to hold onto them.

Strangely, frighteningly, it registered that before his question sunk in it had sounded like Finnick was saying _goodbye_.

"Yes. I will." She didn't qualify the statement with the fact that she could only do so for a few more hours, a day at the most. It didn't seem like it would sit well with Finnick.

He nodded, smile tinged with relief. "Thanks." And without explanation he stood and walked over to the huddle that Peeta and Beetee were making. Joanna raised an eyebrow questioningly at her but Katniss didn't notice.

She was too consumed with the desire to hold Finnick and keep him from vanishing.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for the lateness! Last week was midterms week and I've been a little run down from the stress, weather, and sickness. But everything should be back on track now, plus spring break is coming up so I'll try to have a little something extra out then.

Alright hold onto your hats guys, because with the next chapter comes _action_! Something I'm a little dreadful at but have to face at some point in my life. And after that comes the biggest departure from canon. Up until now I've only played with time a bit to give them more opportunities to talk but once we hit the end of Catching Fire and the beginning of Mockingjay the plot changes altogether. The chapters will be less chronological oneshots and more cohesive.

**Important!** I have a poll up on my profile, asking you guys what my next story should be! Vote or PM me- I'd love to write whatever you're yearning to read. I want to start writing while I'm still writing this so I have a larger buffer of chapters and I don't run into this problem.

Thank you for all your lovely reviews and favs- it means so much to me that you're enjoying this! Please continue to tell me what you like and dislike!


	7. Enemies

_Enemies_

Katniss could barely see. Her head throbbed, her throat ached, and her arm was burning so caustically that she was convinced for one hysterical second that she really _was_ the girl on fire. Maybe Johanna hadn't just bludgeoned and stabbed her but lighted a flint against her skin too. The tiny, fuzzy voice of logic told her that if her blood had been pounding enough to spray her in the face that the skin couldn't be burnt.

As Brutus and Enobaria's footsteps faded into the distance more of her wits returned. A bare minimum to be sure but the overwhelming reminder that she needed to be _protecting Peeta_ was all she needed. Her legs were made of rubber and her torso couldn't support her weight but she still managed to stand. The little bit of the world that she could see swam before her eyes, her heart thudded dully, and with sheer force of will she took a step. Another, and another until she was almost hidden by the jungle foliage.

Not fast enough- someone else was coming. And coming too quickly to be anyone but-

"Katniss! Johanna!"

Finnick's voice was strained and shaky- or was that her hearing? She couldn't tell, she didn't _care_. There was no fear, just a hot, sticky sort of anger that strangled her. Rage, hurt, betrayal. Finnick had _betrayed_ her. He had saved Peeta, kept them safe, lost his mentor, held her as she sobbed into the night and then conspired with Johanna Mason to get her killed and claim the prize for his own.

And to think, she had hesitated over the thought of him dying.

"_Katniss_!"

He found her. She turned as sharply as she could, which was not so sharply at all, and tried to give him her most impressive scowl, which wasn't so impressive. But from what she could glean from his blurry features, he didn't notice or react. In fact, if she could trust her spotty vision (which she didn't think she could) he looked worried. Frantic, really. Features pinched and eyes wild.

_Good_, she thought savagely. Then she blinked stupidly as his actions caught up with her- he was reaching out for her uninjured arm. Katniss jerked back fiercely.

"Get away from me!" She hissed, voice as venomous as her glares didn't manage. Finnick didn't withdraw, but an uninhibited wave of sadness washed over his face.

"Come one! Katniss we have to _go_!"

"Not with you!"

Seemingly tired with arguing and too frantic to gather himself, Finnick reached out and grabbed her hand. Katniss bucked, drawing back. He looked at a loss, bloodless and confused and so helpless that for the tiniest moment her rage abated.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and before she could ask why- or more likely shoot his statement down- he grabbed her again and gathered her into a tight embrace.

_He's going to kill me_! Katniss' mind shrieked, but her heart slowed as her body remembered what her mind refused to acknowledge- that night-long hug that chased away the worst remnants of Prim's screaming.

"Why?" She asked. Finnick pulled away, his hands on her shoulders.

"There's no time," he said hurriedly, and without further ado he hefted her bodily over his shoulder. The action canceled out the gentle tightness of his hug and she flailed instinctively. Her fist connected with the surprisingly soft flesh of his cheek, but he only turned and carried her back into the jungle.

"Put me down! Let me _go_!" She kicked at him, boots thumping at his back not-too-weakly. Finnick's grip was as gentle as it could be to keep her in place on his shoulder.

"If I could I would! There's no time, you need to get out!"

Out? Out _where_? There was no out, not for her. For her there was death, maybe at Finnick's own hand. But there was out for Peeta- Peeta!

"I need to get to Peeta! I need to go! I need to get to him!"

"I know! I'm trying! Can you stop kicking me?"

It wasn't Finnick's plea but his assertion that he was bringing her to Peeta that caused her to stop whacking him. What the hell was going on? The world was bouncing, Finnick was carrying to her Peeta, Johanna had tried to kill her- the only thing that was sure was the quiver on her back and the bow she forgot she'd been clutching in her hand.

-_The bow._ Could she string it from this position? Could she hit him? What if she stabbed him through the neck with an arrow? That might work, and even if he felt her move Katniss instinctively felt that he wouldn't stop her. He hadn't reacted to her words, her fist, her kicking- he might just let her kill him then and there.

"We're almost there," he informed her, and Katniss knew that she could not kill him. Not now. Not like this. She needed something to ground her, to tell her what was right and what was wrong. That should have been Peeta, but her hands went to Finnick's waist and she held him, searching for something in him that she knew would make things clear.

There wasn't enough time. Footsteps were coming up behind them now and she knew somehow that they were not Johanna's. Too fast to be Peeta's or Beetee's, it had to be- Enobaria, right? Or... Chaff was still alive, wasn't he? Either of them could signal both of their deaths.

Finnick must have heard them too, because his strides slowed and she felt herself being lowered gently to the ground. Her legs wobbled but he steadied her and caught her gaze firmly.

"Go- _run_. Don't stop until it's time." He raised a finger at the start of her protest. "You'll know, okay? You'll know."

He pushed her, a gentle tap against her shoulder to signal to her to move. She followed his guidance, too woozy to think, and ran away from him. Not a moment too soon, as the sound of shouts and conflict echoed in her wake.

Surprisingly sure strides brought her far enough away to look around her surroundings. Katniss knew where she was. _The lightning tree_. Or, rather, just close enough to identify her position. She wasn't on the tree but looking down she realized that there was something underfoot. Delicate looking, golden in the artificial afternoon light.

The wire. But hadn't it been cut? And going the other way? This was... the extra wire, the bit that hadn't been discussed. Still connected to the tree, still a powerful tool if she used it the right way.

With minutes to go until the electricity would surge, there wasn't much time left to think. She picked up the end of the wire and drew a bow from her quiver. A quick knot was made around the arrow's base- it would hold for a shot, and one shot was all she was going to get. The question was who, now. Who would be on the receiving end of this death sentence?

The sounds of a scuffle weren't too far behind. Finnick and whomever he was fighting. If she scrambled fast enough she could take either down. Perhaps Johanna or the last remaining tribute would be there; either of them would make for a good target. She had no idea where Beetee was at the moment but it didn't matter- even if he was masterminding all of their demises, something primal and pained clenched in her stomach at the thought of killing the older inventor with his own ingenious creation.

"Katniss!" A voice she recognized above all others consumed her and she knew she was hallucinating. She had to be, because Peeta had been separated from her and Finnick didn't have enough time to bring them together.

But there he was- broad shoulders, worried eyes, lines cutting across his face that were intimately familiar and loved in whatever capacity she could manage. Peeta. Peeta was here, running towards her, and as he came so did Haymitch's last words.

_Don't forget who your enemies are_.

In one crystallizing moment of pure clarity, Katniss realized that everything was _wrong_. They had all been kids here, once, and now here they were again. Broken, used by the Capitol and sentenced to a life of nightmares and guilt and self-loathing- and then deposited back in the arena that would never have left them anyway.

All of it, Finnick's arms, Johanna's eye rolls, Beetee's careful calculations, the thin veneer of confidence on the Careers faces, Prim's scream, _Peeta_- it was all wrong. None of them would die at her hands. Not again, not _ever_ again.

_I know who my enemies are_, she thought. And it was the clearest thing she could muster since Johanna had clobbered her across the head. With narrowed eyes, and feeling Peeta finally join her side, Katniss strung her arrow and scanned the sky.

There it was, a glimmering, out of place section. The chink. Peeta knew- he had to know. His gentle grip on her waist was proof enough. She didn't hesitate. The arrow loosed and flew as sure as any other, lodging into the weak point above them.

They were out of time. Katniss wrapped her arms around Peeta and dove just as the world around them exploded. Lightning forked from the top of the arena, setting the tree alight and electrifying the ground around them. Noises faded into one tearing shriek from the bolt and a few muffled shouts and curses that were summarily swallowed.

Her head seemed to explode too, arms spasming and legs locking as she fought to keep control of her limbs and keep them around Peeta too. He was also bucking under her, caught in the electrical current. Her mind was fading, her body along with it. Above them, cutting through the screeching snaps of the lightning was the hum of a hover craft. Someone must have died, the canon blast lost in the chaos.

_Please, please not_... But Katniss didn't know who to pray for. She couldn't even bring herself to wish death on Johanna or Enobaria or Chaff. Not now. Not when the thought of death made her stomach roil. The thought of these Games made her want to punch a hole right through that damned forcefield.

But the ladder was descending above her and Peeta, and the hazy form of Plutarch Heavensbee was coming for _them_. _We're not dead. Are we dead? Am I- is Peeta?_ She couldn't order her thoughts into anything coherent, and as the Head Gamemaker reached out for her she couldn't brace for the killing blow that was sure to land.

He didn't kill her. He did something far worse; a surprisingly gentle hand moved to her eyes and he closed them with his thumb. Now her last remaining sense was gone to her. Whatever they did to her, whatever was to come her way, she would be blind to it.

_No_, she tried to moan, but losing her sight wouldn't prove to be such a hindrance because she was blacking out anyway. Weakly, she tried to keep her hold on Peeta but Katniss would never know if she was successful as the darkness- her last ally and worst enemy- finally swallowed her whole.

* * *

**A/N**: Ta-da! Action! And the beginnings of a discernable plot! I had such a good time writing this chapter, I hope you enjoy it. This is, of course, going to carry us into the timeframe of Mockingjay, but with a _large_ departure from the plot. So from here on out the chapters will be more cohesive, less "one shots" and much more connected.

I just want to take a moment to extend a gigantic thank you to my reviewers. I know that this isn't the most popular of pairings but I'm so happy that I can provide you all with something that you can enjoy! I have the sweetest, most loyal reviewers and I really appreciate your insight and all the love that you've been sharing. Thank you so, so much- and please continue! It helps me know that I'm going in the right direction!


	8. Interlude Loose Ends

_Interlude; Loose Ends_

Even though the world was coming back in slivers, Katniss couldn't make sense of a single thing. Her head was _pounding_, an uneven rhythm blaring and making her unable to process much of anything at all. There was the fact that she might be alive, but that was about as far as her perception went. It wasn't as if a hell made of noise and light and confusion and tubes and needles in her arms was out of the question- she deserved far worse.

Her eyes were sticky and wouldn't open. Even if they could, her limbs were too heavy to move and her chest felt like it was filled with stinging salt water. Was she- was she _drowning_? But she was dead, she couldn't drown. Unless that was what death was like. Pain and darkness and heaviness and drowning-

-No,_ no!_ She wasn't dead _yet_. The fuzzy, faded image of Plutarch Heavensbee came rushing back to her; him reaching out and closing her eyes, her spiraling into unconsciousness before she could find out what Peeta's fate was-

-The Capitol must have had enough. They had captured her and Peeta and this, this stinging and sticky and fuzzy, was the precursor to torture. It was so blatantly obvious that even weak and barely awake, Katniss hated herself for not realizing it sooner. She wasn't going to last like this. She'd managed to survive the end of the Games somehow but Peeta was still in danger. She needed to act. Now.

All of her thoughts were a complete mess. Peeta featured prominently in each shard, herself in only a few of them. The Capitol loomed in the background, foreboding and omnipresent and that was what drove to her to finally open her eyes. Which felt like a mistake at first- she was nearly blinded by the bright whiteness of wherever she was. Maybe she _was_ dead. Katniss blinked furiously until the stickiness faded and her vision swam back to her. It was mercifully clearer than it had been the last time she'd seen anything and even though it was still a little hazy, she recognized what must have been a medical bay.

The next part was infinitely harder. Her arms shook as she lifted them, but with a vicious glare her eyes narrowed at the sight of the needles poking into the veins at her elbow. It took a mighty effort to bring her hand up and with one clumsy swing the wires were pulled away. They trailed against the metal railing of her gurney, taking some of her blood with them. It pooled at the little holes on her arm, but she was free of them so the rest didn't matter.

Katniss' consciousness and memory swam, and it was singularly miraculous that she pushed herself into an upright position. She would never remember how she did it- one moment she was staring at the dangling needles and wires and the next she had shoved the railing down, dangled her bare legs over the edge and grabbed a syringe on the metal table beside her.

_Peeta_, she thought desperately, staggering up and settling herself on her feet before shuffling forward. She had to save him- he would be _destroyed_ in the Capitol's hands. She couldn't allow that to happen. The only way to extricate him would be death, and though every fiber of her body screamed at her to keep him alive, that wasn't the way to save him. Not anymore.

_I'm coming, just hold on_. She would save him. She had to. _I'm sorry it has to be this way_.

The Capitol would not get to him.

Her vision was fading, her stamina flagging. Everything was dull and foggy and somehow stretching away from her. Katniss stumbled, gritted her teeth, calmed her galloping heart. She had to do this- she had to, she had to, she had to-

"Woah, woah there." Hands, voices, someone- _someones?_- touching her arms. Holding onto her. Dragging her back, keeping her from Peeta. No. This would not happen. Katniss had killed before, and Peacekeepers would be infinitely easier to dispose of than fellow tributes. Some dark, sickening corner of her soul whispered that she might even enjoy it.

"You're injured, you need to-"

The voice cut off as she swung. Her fist connected with something, her knee with something else. Her vision was almost completely dark now, her mind reeling and slipping away from her. Even if she could see, she wouldn't have been able to process. The extent of it was figuring out that it was more than one person on her, and that only caused her panic and aggression to spike exponentially.

"Calm down, Katniss. It's okay, you're okay-"

She refused to listen. Instead, she flailed her arm out and was pleased when a pained cry rent the air, followed by a resounding smacking sound. The syringe didn't come away with her, which meant that it had been buried in one of the Peacekeeper's limbs. Hopefully it was a neck- that killed, didn't it? A syringe in the neck?

"Ah- ow ah _ah_-!"

"-Be careful-"

"Katniss c'mon, calm down-"

An image of her mother came to her. She had only used a needle to treat her patients twice when times had been uncharacteristically good to them. And both times before using them she had tapped the very top of the needle, right below the point. Air bubbles- to get the _air_ bubbles out.

She had to hit the plunger.

Katniss lunged in the general direction of where she'd lost the syringe, but her target had moved. Possibly fell, judging by the thump that followed her actions. So she dove blindly, clawing her way away from the other hands still clinging to her. She had to be close, she _had_ to be-

"Katniss, please, stop."

That voice.

Katniss knew that voice.

She'd know that voice anywhere. She'd know that voice in hell, in the Arena, in the belly of the Capitol.

"Peeta," she whispered raggedly, body going limp the moment she let go of her death grip on her adrenalin. The person holding her was doing it gently, so terribly gently that it could only be one person. She turned, eyes closed, and buried her face in his collar. A rich, warm laugh rumbled in his chest and vibrated against her own.

"Thanks, firecracker. You need to sleep."

"I need to save you."

His arms tightened around her and she felt herself being lifted up. She was too disoriented to struggle and felt no urge to. Instead, she pressed her cheek harder against his shoulder in order to convince himself that he was there, whole, and alive. It made it easier for him to lean in and whisper in her ear.

"You already did."

* * *

The next time she woke up, Katniss did it with considerably less fanfare. There was one dizzying moment when her panic peaked, but her mind was a little less fuzzy and her memories came back a little more ordered. The fragments held more chronological significance- Plutarch had come to her at the end of the Games, and her ill-fated attack on the supposed Peacekeepers had been after that.

Supposed, because they _weren't_. They were... it had been _Peeta_. Not a guard, she'd attacked Peeta. What if he'd been on the receiving end of her syringe? Or her fist- hadn't she hit someone? Or kicked? Her knee throbbed a little, her body picking up the slack when she couldn't call all the memories back.

Her world was frayed and comprised of loose ends. There were too many questions. Katniss hated questions- it was time she got some answers.

It was easier now. Her body hurt less. In fact, the only real hindrance was her still-clouded consciousness. She felt as if her brain had been taken out, wrapped in fluffy tufts of gauze and replaced. Or that someone had poured honey in her ear while she'd been unconscious. They were silly comparisons but they lingered in a languid, dreamy way while she oriented herself- first sitting up and then standing.

She was alone, but she still took the time to look around now that she could see and process her surroundings. It _was_ a medical bay and coldly sterile. There was very little here- the room was tiny. All it contained was her bed, a few gently beeping machines, an IV pole and a chair. It was more than her mother had but anything outside of Twelve shouldn't be so... empty, right?

Her surroundings now identified, the next thing she had to find out was exactly where _here_ was. She set off, wobbly on her legs but not terribly so. One hand was braced against the wall as she walked forward, the other holding fast at the flimsy gown that covered her.

Katniss did not expect her door to be unlocked, but she supposed that the commotion after her previous escape attempt couldn't have been contained in such a tiny room. The hallway was quiet now, the only sound a few distant, muffled voices coming from one end. So she had a destination.

The walk was slow but uneventful. Her progress was methodical- each step coordinated with her hold on the wall. She was almost pleased with her adaptation under the circumstances, but there was too much else on her plate at the moment to be concerned with something so insignificant.

This door was unlocked too. When she pressed it open, all conversation ceased. The silence was loud enough to deafen her, but Katniss didn't mind. Without distractions she could focus on some of the present company.

Plutarch Heavensbee was the first person she saw, and the sight of him caused a mixture of panic and ire to stir in her stomach. But it was quieted when she realized who was on his other side. Her heart plummeted to her stomach and then rose like a comet, slamming into her chest. It heated her entire face and her lips parted even though it took a few moments for the word to come out.

"-_Gale?_"

By the time she said it he was at her side, almost smiling. It was a foreign expression on his face but also somehow familiar and overwhelmingly comforting. His arm immediately snaked around her waist and hers around his shoulder as she grabbed him into a tight, desperate hug.

"You're here," she breathed. He nodded against her cheek.

"So are you."

His voice was strong and it made her feel like she might float away. It was such a stark contrast from the last image she had of him that it drove the image of his bloodied, broken body from her mind without a second's hesitation. She held him fiercely and when she pulled away her eyes were clear and her jaw was set. Katniss had Gale back, but now was not the time or place for anything but ascertaining the answer to the most pressing question.

"Where is here?"

He didn't wait either.

"District Thirteen."

* * *

**A/N**: Early update! Early for a few reasons- this chapter is mostly a necessary evil. Katniss is disoriented and injured from the Arena and as such doesn't make for as compelling a narrator. We need this to place things in time and space but probably not as enjoyable to read. I don't want to make you all wait so long just for a chapter that moves the plot forward. Plus, Finnick isn't explicitly present and even though the plot is going to be larger than their relationship he _is_ the intended other main character so an entire chapter without him feels a little unfair :X

Speaking of plot- we're finally getting one! There's always been a _plan_ for one, but now the exposition is over so we can get into the thick of things. No promises since I don't have a buffer of chapters right now but I'm going to try to get the next chapter up by Monday or early in the week so that you get a little extra.

**I have a new one-shot up!** Besides the shameless self-promotion, it does contain some of my headcanons concerning the time period before the first book and I might be referring to some mentions of things there. It's chock full of depressingly angsty goodness.

**I have a poll up!** I want to start working on a buffer of chapters for my next fic, so please vote. I aim to please my lovely, loyal readers!

**I'm taking one shot requests!** I'm going to be starting a Hunger Games one shot/mini arc collection, so leave me some things to write about in a review or PM. Anything and everything.

Again, a huge, huge thank you to my lovely reviewers. I go back and read what you've left constantly and I'm constantly surprised and overwhelmed by how complimentary and in-depth they are. You're amazing people- I haven't been around the FFN thing since 2009/2010ish? So I don't know the protocol for answering you all individually but I read and appreciate every single one. You make me feel validated and appreciated as a writer- thank you and please continue!


	9. Answers

_Answers_

The rest of the day passed in a blur, but Katniss was finally clued in as to _why_. Aside from the lingering concussion, for the past four days she'd been pumped full of some chemical to keep her injuries from hurting too much while she healed. It had the lovely side effect of keeping her groggy and unable to think as clearly as she should have. The moment Gale had told her that, she vowed to herself that she wouldn't take it anymore- even if that meant constantly ripping out the needles and tubing.

But more important than that knowledge was finally finding out where she was. Her suspicions had been wrong about being captured by the Capitol. Instead, she was told they had been rescued by District Thirteen. Which wasn't quite how she'd put it- maybe it was the drugs coursing through her body or the aftershocks of the electricity but she didn't quite feel that safe.

Still- _Gale_ was next to her and she allowed herself to bask in the fact that he was there with her; allowed herself to let it push everything else from her mind. He was strong and steady and Katniss knew, without a doubt, that she could follow his lead. She didn't leave his side, not even when she was told that she had interrupted a strategy meeting. At first she thought it might be Gale's influence that kept her there, but slowly it dawned on her that the reason might just be herself.

There were glances being cast at her, and if she managed to catch so many there must have been so many that she missed in her less lucid moments. The word _rebellion_ didn't pass by unnoticed either, and her name being spoken was always met with a spike in her attention that didn't yield any results in terms of understanding why she was a subject of conversation, but still alerted her to the fact that she _was_. There was a reason they'd fished her from the arena.

Aside from Gale, Plutarch, and Plutarch's assistant Fulvia Cardew, Katniss didn't recognize any of the others present. She only committed one name and face to her already foggy memory- the tall woman with the stern features and impossibly groomed hair was Coin, president of Thirteen. She figured it would probably be important to recognize her in the future, but outside of her name Katniss could really only remember her hair- the way it fell in one single line to her shoulders, never parting, barely moving.

The words buzzed by and flew past her and it could have been minutes but was likely an hour or more when Gale gently tugged at her elbow and beckoned her to stand. The meeting was over.

The room had emptied by the time she stood, Gale supporting her at the elbow. She couldn't help but smile at familiarity of their intimacy. Katniss never quite shied away from touch- there was nothing that grounds one better than the physical reminder that touch provides- but with Gale it is different. It is line that runs through her memories and anchors her to the past. It is what has guided the both of them from the wreckage of their childhoods.

It felt like home.

He didn't say anything as they made their way to the door, and Katniss waited until the vertigo and pounding in her head dimmed to break the silence.

"So."

It's not descriptive by any means, but there are more questions in her mind than she has breath to say, and Gale has always been smart enough to understand what she means. He raises an eyebrow at her, the tiniest modicum of softness at his lips.

"Where should I start?"

He didn't mince words, not that she expected he would, and she was overwhelmingly grateful. Katniss needed something steady and straightforward to reach her through the haze.

She came up with the seemingly reasonable, "Wherever it's easiest," but he gave her a look that caused her to sigh and clarify. "You know what I mean. Wherever I can follow." Nothing was easy, she knew that, but her tongue was _heavy_, damn it, and he should know what to say anyway.

Mollified, he bit at his lip for a quick moment. "Well, you're in Thirteen."

"You told me that."

Gale nodded. "They got you from the Arena at the last possible second- they cut it too close in my opinion, but they did the best they could given how little a window they had."

Katniss' head was already swimming and she shot him a glare of frustration. And here she'd been counting on him to be blunt with her. "Gale- who are _they_?"

He didn't glance away. He never looked away from her. "There's way too many- even I don't know who all of them are. To the best of my knowledge, Plutarch Heavensbee was the means behind this. President Coin was the one who made it possible, and Haymitch was the driving force that made it all possible."

Katniss stopped dead in her tracks and Gale looked ready to ask her if she was feeling well. But leave it to Gale to understand the difference between physical distress and her reaction to a bomb of information being dropped so he waited while she gathered herself and choked out, "_Haymitch_ was behind this?"

Gale nodded again. "Yes. He rallied everyone, made all the plans, set it all in motion. I don't think it was just him, but I know he's been a major player for a long time."

To her credit, she didn't sink to the floor even though her knees wanted to give out. _For a long time_ meant that this was a plan. This _whole thing_ was a scheme. He had coached her and sent her to her death and all the while he'd _lied_ to her. She thought they had been so similar, so quiet and stubborn and stupid, but he had been pulling her strings. Just like the Capitol.

Katniss shoved her anger away, only able to do so after promising herself that the next time she saw Haymitch she'd rip his eyeballs out. The imagined blood satiated her anger and she let it melt back into the fluffy haze that made up her consciousness.

"So what's your next question?"

She blinked up at Gale muzzily, letting his words pass through the honeyed veil. Gale was patient and as they came to rest against the wall in the hallways he gently nudged her ribs with his forearm, "Think, Katnip. What's the next thing you need to ask?"

Katniss grinned when the answer came to her, though it died by the time she turned to him. "What was everyone behind? What are they planning."

For the first time since they'd laid eyes on each other, Gale pulled away. Katniss held her breath, chest feeling tight and tingly as the nervousness his silence inspired claimed her.

"It's a rebellion. The whole nation is rebelling."

* * *

After Gale's revelation, it seemed that the blows would just not stop coming. It turned out that it wasn't the entire nation that was rebelling, but the pockets of resistance were strong and growing. Even if they didn't comprise the entirety of each District there were no places in Panem that were sided with the Capitol.

Worse than the imminent threat of war was what Gale told her next, after she steadied herself and made sure to remain standing. It was necessary because after he was sure she had processed as much as she could about the fact that Panem was changing, he told her the fate of District Twelve.

The fact that there _was_ no District Twelve anymore.

Katniss couldn't remember remember her reaction to that. There had been gagging, and a slump to the floor. Her head had spun, her thoughts reeled, and when she'd collapsed Gale had gone down with her. The space between them had been her anchor but aside from his presence beside her and her insides crumbling were the only things that stayed with her. The rest was lost to the cotton of her world.

She thought that might be better.

Safely back in her room, a private medical suite that was actually very rare in the quasi-catacombs that made up District Thirteen, Katniss glared at Gale until he sat beside her and promised not to leave. Not that he was itching to get back to Coin and the others- he revealed in an almost teasing tone that any excuse to stay away from them was welcome.

"So I'm an excuse now?"

"The best kind."

Gale's voice was softer than she remembered, but everything was different now and it was a change she could accept. Especially when he sat in the unoccupied chair beside her bed. She managed to relax back against the thin sheet and starchy pillow on her bed as long as Gale was in her sights.

There was so much to discuss that she was surprised when the conversation petered. Perhaps that was just it- they were both tired and overwhelmed and there was so much to sort through that finding somewhere to start was impossible. Especially after the revelation of what happened to their home.

"Twelve- how did you get out?"

Gale gave her a concerned look. "We don't have to talk about this anymore-"

"No. Gale I-" her voice broke a little and she cursed herself for her slip before pushing on. "I need to know. If I don't... I already have enough nightmares about the Arena. I don't need to picture you almost dying."

True to form, he understood. It didn't take much goading for the story to spill from his lips. "Right after the commotion with the- uh- the lightning thing? They cut the power. I knew what was going to happen. Prim too. Maybe not exactly, but once the lights and televisions went out we knew that there was going to be retribution. An attack. So we gathered everyone that we could and moved them out to the meadow since the fence was no longer a problem. It..." He cut off, and Katniss could see the lines of face that screamed of pain and frustration. She kept herself from reaching out, afraid that one touch might shatter the moment.

Gale continued, "It happened faster than we thought possible. Hovercrafts filled the air and they dropped bomb after bomb. About half the District was making a run for the forest when the buildings started to go up in flame."

"But you made it out." Her voice was tight with desperate need. He nodded solemnly at her.

"I made it out. Prim and your mother too."

That, of course, begged the question- "... Who _didn't_?"

His eyes closed but he did not stop to soften the blow. "The Undersees weren't accounted for. Most of the Hob was obliterated- Greasy Sae wasn't found. And-" His breath caught but the words forced themselves out anyway, "Hazelle."

Gale's pain was her own. Katniss shoved any reservations away and leaned over the railing to grab his hand. They sat in silence for a long time, letting the quiet of the room siphon away the hard edge of the pain and dull their senses. Only time could truly blanket the hurt, but pretending that it was possible made it just a tiny bit easier to bear.

Saying sorry, offering solace, would only make things worse. In the weeks after their fathers died they had relied on silence to keep them sane. It was what they shared- words would be a hindrance, so she simply kept a strong hold on his arm to let him know that he was not alone.

One he recovered enough of himself, Katniss was compelled to ask, "And- what about- the other tributes?"

She almost sighed at the way his face darkened. Katniss knew the subject was always touchy, but she simply didn't have time for Gale's reservations about her time in the Arena and her ties to the tributes. She had to _know_. In fact, she was surprised that she hadn't been aching to ask about them already- overwhelmed with seeing Gale and learning of their fate had taken precedence over everything else but with the clearing of her mind she realized that not knowing the fate of the others was an omnipresent ache.

"Gale. What happened to them?"

"Well you already ran into them, didn't you?"

Biting back a noise of indignant frustration, she replied, "Just be straight with me. Where's Finnick?"

Katniss and Gale both froze at the same time. Her lips were parted, his eyebrows were hitched high in shock. She hadn't really thought about what she was asking- she just needed to know where and how the other tributes were. The words- the name- had tumbled from her lips without thinking.

"Finnick Odair?"

"And Peeta. And Johanna, Beetee, Seeder."

There was a clear edge of hurt and annoyance in Gale's voice that made his tone sound small and petty in contrast to everything that had just happened. "Peeta's doing better than you. He said he almost didn't make it back to you, but he's mostly lucid and not too badly injured. Finnick is-" Gale broke off with a sigh and scrubbed a hand across his face. "I didn't think you'd be asking about him so I didn't check. Then again, maybe I should have expected it." Katniss nearly interrupted him but thought better of it. There were more important matters at hand.

"Well?"

"He's here."

She hadn't realized how tightly locked her muscles had been until that moment, but realizing that Finnick was _here_ and not in the Capitol's clutches brought a swell of relief so massive that it was actually dizzying. It was tempered with guilt that she hadn't breathed such a heavy sigh of euphoria at the news of Peeta's safety as well.

_The drugs. It has to be the drugs_.

Gale must not have noticed her conflict because he forged on. "Well, physically at least. I don't know too much about his condition but apparently he's been mentally present a grand total of one time. When you tried to do, uh, something a few days ago. With the needle."

There was a note of amusement in Gale's tone and Katniss felt her face heat up. "I think given the circumstances it could be considered a good plan."

"Sure, sure. Nice job with that, by the way. You nailed him- excellent shot even mostly asleep."

A choked sound tangled in her throat. "I- what?"

"In the shoulder. It didn't hurt him- don't worry. And your punch didn't even leave a mark on his face. Your _knee_ jab, on the other hand, was pretty impressive. You owe me for that, Katniss." He rubbed his hip with a drama that was clearly meant to be teasing.

Even though panic and guilt threatened to swallow her, she still made a comically disgruntled face at Gale that made him laugh.

"Yeah, well. I'm sure you've done something to earn it."

"Probably."

They lapsed back into quietness, and even though there were a million and one things to think about Katniss couldn't help but begin to nod off. Gale's hand was there, running fingers through her hair.

"Get some sleep, Katnip."

She was all too happy to oblige.

* * *

**A/N**: Gale you need to stop saying dramatic things that make me scene break okay. Jeez. Then again, you wouldn't be Gale if that was the case. Difficult boy.

I must say, part of me wanted to keep Finnick's fate hidden a little longer- part of the perks of being the author is being completely evil. Alas, this thing is more or less writing itself and that information could not stay down. Besides, we have to push the plot forward!

Speaking of- I _did_ want to get that last chapter out of the way but I'm glad you all liked it regardless! After this we're back to Mondays again, unless another interlude worms its way in. I'm going to try my best to keep my chapters a bit longer now that we're going to get into the thick of things.

Thank you so much for the reviews! I look forward to them so much- I feel like we're all part of a super exclusive club or something :X You guys are the best, seriously.


	10. Proximity

_Proximity_

Katniss realized with a glum dissatisfaction that she had no idea what time of day it was- really any sense of _when_. She trusted Gale enough to believe the _where_- Thirteen- and she knew by the lack of windows that they were probably underground as well, but the _when_ was frustratingly absent. She slept for such long, irregular hours that she had no clue if it was morning or night.

But the hall outside of her private room was quiet enough to suggest that it was late enough for others to be occupied elsewhere- sleeping or attending to business. Then again, it didn't sound like there was much on this floor aside from her room, the larger medical bay, and a few places set aside for strategy meetings. So she could have been completely wrong.

Not that that would stop her.

On the chair that Gale had vacated three sleeps ago there were clothes. They were reminiscent of a uniform; a drab grey shirt and matching pants that looked a little too big for her frame. But it was better than the thin gown and she changed as soon as she saw them, then stepped into her slippers and made for the hall.

She remembered enough to know that one end of the hall only held that large room used for strategizing or whatever else needed to happen. That meant that if she was to find them, they'd be at the other end. So that was where she went. Down past three doors marked _private_, she realized that the larger infirmary was much closer to her own room than she realized. Even going slow as she was Katniss reached the doorway in a matter of minutes.

That was about as far as her plan went, however. She knew she needed to be up and looking- she knew _why_. At least, on a superficial level. Laying down, waiting, not knowing what was really going on wasn't something Katniss was designed to do. Searching out the others seemed the most reasonable course of action. But she hadn't put much thought into _who_ she wanted to see, or _what_ she would say when she saw... whoever it was.

Katniss peaked around the edge of the doorway and saw two rows of beds, all neatly made and empty amongst machines and tubes and medical supplies that matched the ones in her own room. She tried to ignore the way her stomach fell in disappointment- it wasn't like she was going to be deterred because the first part of her not so well conceived didn't work out.

She stepped in properly and looked around. The wall closest to her held only shelves and cabinets, but the far end had a curtained archway that must have led somewhere. It was as good a place to start as any. Katniss carefully picked her way there, studiously avoiding any wires with a carefulness honed through years of sneaking through the forest in pursuit of prey.

When she got to the curtained area she peered around as inconspicuously as possible. It was dark in the room, but the moment her eyes adjusted she realized that it was, in fact, occupied. With someone she most assuredly did not recognize.

As quietly and quickly as she could, she backed out and tripped her way back to the hallway. One hand flew to her hair and she ruffled her hair. Her back was pressed flush against the wall between the medical bay's door and the last room marked private.

A thought dawned on her. Katniss turned and glanced between the two doors. She had assumed the private rooms were meeting or storage or something beyond her imagination, but upon closer examination she realized that they must have been rooms like her own. Private or semi-private medical chambers. It was something she never realized was possible. The closest thing she'd known as a hospital was the kitchen in her home.

Steeling herself, she picked her way to the next private room. This would require door opening, and if it was another unknown person that might present problems. Was she supposed to be roaming around? That didn't bother her as much as the thought that she might be herded back to her own room. She brushed the thought away- if she could cause enough damage mostly asleep, she could handle herself now. When she reached the next door all she needed was a moment's hesitation before she carefully pushed it open.

The lighting was dim, but Katniss could easily recognize the profile of the bed's occupant. It would take vision problems on the scale they'd been when she'd first woken up to keep her from telling who it was. Despite herself, Katniss felt the smallest of smiles tug at her lips and light up her face briefly before fading away.

She edged in gingerly, taking care not to be too loud in case he was sleeping. By the time she reached the edge of his bed, however, it was clear that he was awake- at least, in a way. Cautiously resting her hand on the bottom railing, Katniss leaned forward enough to see his face. He was turned away from her and probably had been since before she arrived. His lips were parted ever so slightly, as if he had tried to say something then forgotten to finish his thought, staying silent instead. His entire form was still- the only clue she really had to tell that he was awake was his eyes- they were open, glassy in a dull, feverish way, not really looking at anything at all. She made a mental note to ask someone who might know if he was sick. One of his arms was draped over his side, the other stretched out, hand resting on the meager bedside table.

He may have looked awake, but he didn't quite look alive. Katniss felt her stomach drop.

Seized with sudden, inescapable panic, she stepped closer around the side of his bed and whispered, "Finnick?" He didn't stir so she had to ask again, louder, "Finnick?"

That did something. Finnick's eyelids flickered, the outstretched hand twitched twice and then spasmed. He made a noise in his throat- acknowledgement most likely but to Katniss it sounded like distress so she abandoned her caution and stumbled to his side, kneeling against the floor in front of him. His eyes did not track her movement, which worried her to no end.

"Hey- Finnick? Can you- hear me?" She tried to be quiet, but there was still a desperate edge to her voice that probably wouldn't help him. His eyes flickered again and Katniss took it as a good sign. "Finnick, it's me. Look at me?"

Katniss couldn't help herself. Her hand acted on its own accord, reaching out to gently brush against his jaw. The moment her fingers connected with his skin, it was like a bolt of electricity passed through his frame. He blinked and flinched back hard. His eyes were wild, darting around the room like a caged animal and his breath came in short, tearing gasps for a moment. It was like his entire body was withdrawing from her touch, and Katniss dropped her hand as if it had been burned.

He stared at her for a minute while his breathing slowed and some recognition crept into his eyes. He fumbled to make a word, any word. She waited, tense and locked.

Finally, voice hoarse and strained, he managed, "Katniss?"

Her relief was instant. She nodded, pressing her hands against the bed's edge. "Yeah. It's me."

His muscles relaxed, head lolling back close to her and arm settling in its outstretched fashion, the way it had been before she entered. The hint of a smile touched his lips, even though his eyes were mostly unfocused and still glassy. "'S good."

Katniss had no idea what he meant by that, but she was starting to hope that she had simply interrupted some sort of waking nightmare; that it wasn't her presence that had so startled him but a haunting memory of something else entirely.

"Yeah, it's good to see you, sleeping beauty."

That got a wheeze of a laugh out of him. "Not me. You."

"Well I can't argue with that."

For a moment, he felt like Finnick. Whole and unburdened underneath the worn out exterior and the air of sickness draped around him like a blanket. Her hope flagged though when concern creased his features and his lips moved again silently as he tried to find the words he wanted to use.

"What's wrong?" She asked quietly.

"I-" He swallowed the rest of it and had to try again to form the rest of the sentence. "-Sorry."

That wasn't what she'd been expecting. "... Finnick? Sorry for what?"

But that seemed to be beyond him at the moment. He couldn't only mumble it again, "Sorry, I'm sorry. S-..." The last faded out in a way that made it seem as if it was addressed to someone else. He wasn't present now, so she waited for him to come back to her.

The apologies seemed to upset him even though they were coming from his own lips- she needed to change topics. As gingerly as she had ever done anything, Katniss reached out again and let her hand hover an appropriate distance from his face.

"Can I?" She asked hesitantly, and Finnick didn't pause before he nodded. Her palm rested against his forehead, then she carefully carded her fingers through his hair. Finnick didn't flinch this time; in fact the tiny, languid smile came back to his features and he made a noise of contentment. Low and warm it resonated in her chest and she smiled too.

Katniss didn't consider leaving. With her fingers still resting on his head she turned just enough to grab the chair behind her and bring it up so she could sit on it. Once it was flush against the side of the bed she settled on it, legs curled beneath her. Her head came to rest on the mattress, turned so she could see his profile and once in position she continued her ministrations.

The darkness of the room, the quiet of the place, curled protectively around them. Her broken edges felt a little soothed- the feeling wouldn't last, she knew, but the silent wistfulness of the night let her pretend. Before long she'd have to face the light of day again, and so would he. Now, though, they were in the place they knew best, the place that was most familiar. This was where they belonged, where they needed to be.

Without realizing it, her eyelids slipped closed. She could still feel Finnick beside her, feel his head beneath her fingers. The proximity made her smile and the encroaching darkness of sleep didn't seem so scary with him there, relaxing under her hand. In fact, she welcomed it.

Slumber stole them away without any resistance.

* * *

**A/N**: A little shorter, my apologies, but- look who's back! Would that I could just write Finniss shmoop forever. But I do hope you're all as happy as I am that Finnick has returned!

I've been really busy with applying for internships and research programs, so I didn't edit this as fully as I probably should have- hopefully it's not _too_ bad. Thank you guys for the reviews and follows and all that good stuff! Please continue!


	11. Fraying

_Fraying_

There was no light to wake her, so Katniss couldn't be sure that she was rousing with the morning. Her eyes cracked open through the puffiness of sleep, the world around her blurry. She laid still until she gained her bearings, allowed her other senses to process her location. It was easier without the constant mix of drugs running through her veins- she could feel starchy sheets, the pain in her neck, soft flesh beneath her fingers.

The pungent smell of disinfectant was familiar now, and signaled hospital room. But the presence of another, the odd position she'd adopted, and the strangeness of the angle meant that she wasn't in her small, solitary compartment. Katniss reached out, fingers exploring what she couldn't see yet. The softness of the flesh quickly gave way to the feeling of hair. Someone else's hair. And then the pillow they were laying on.

The discovery yielded no panic. Dully, her mind picked through who could be beneath her. Gale? No, their positions would have been reversed- he hadn't been injured. So... Peeta, then. Hadn't Gale said that Peeta was resting? Or- was he up and about? It could be Peeta, but vague disappointment coiled in her chest at the thought.

So it was time to get up, since there was no more information to glean through touching. Katniss moved, pushing her other arm beneath her to raise her head. A groan escaped her lips as the stiffness flared at the top of her spine and curled around her neck. Apparently, sleeping half on a chair and half on a bed wasn't the best idea she'd had.

Once upright and rocked back onto the chair, she rubbed her eyes to clear them of sleep-haze in order to see just on whom her palm was resting. Colors resolved into shapes, outlines sharpened into features- and as Finnick became clearer her memories of the previous night came back. A smile crept onto her lips, and when her eyes met his she realized he was awake.

"... Hi," she greeted a little lamely. Finnick smiled back at her.

"Hi."

He looked comfortable despite the needles still hooked into his arm and she was filled with a soft warmth. "Sorry about falling asleep on you," she murmured gently, a statement that he brushed off with an almost-frantic shake of his head. Finnick moved to take her hand in his. The motion was languid; it was dawning on Katniss that he didn't seem altogether there. Sleep had led to little improvement, then. She let him envelope her palm with his, still smiling.

"I'm glad you stayed," he whispered, voice thick and fervent with sincerity. She soothed his distress by rubbing her thumb along with the edge of his wrist.

"Happy to help, Odair."

That worked, and he settled back against the pillows. "I guess it's my turn to call you sleeping beauty."

"Seems fair," she offered reasonably.

"What is that, by the way?"

"What is...?"

"Sleeping beauty?"

Katniss made to explain it, then she realized she wasn't quite sure herself. "It's- something my father used to say. When Prim or myself would wake up late, he'd laugh and- call us that." Her throat caught on the words. She fell silent. In her tiredness the previous day, the phrase must have slipped out for familiarity's sake. It had felt natural in the moment of refuge from the constant ache that was her life. A remnant of a happy time.

Finnick observed her carefully with more life in his eyes than she had seen in him since the arena. But he made no move to comfort or apologize- like the night of the Jabberjays, he favored resoluteness and Katniss allowed the gratitude to fill her.

"I saw her," he offered suddenly. At her look of conclusion, he clarified, "Prim. Your sister- I saw her. She works with patients and- she gave me that." His tone was dipping back to haziness, his hand languidly pointing at the nightstand. She turned- there were only a few objects. A glass, and a length of frayed string looped into a half-knot. Neither one seemed very important, but Katniss nodded anyway.

"Ah," she replied for lack of anything better to say. If Finnick noticed her attempt at placating, he didn't comment.

"The string. It's good. It's really good. It helps me think. I'll show you, some time."

Katniss had no idea what to say to that, so she settled on a shaky, "Thank you." It was enough- Finnick's smile didn't falter and he squeezed her hand. But after he did, he suddenly flinched back, hand spasming while he tried to bury himself in the pillows and away from her. Katniss' heart picked up its pace, thrumming threadily in her throat. Driven by instinct, she leaned in sharply.

"Finnick?"

He stared through her, like she was nothing but a lingering phantom he couldn't see. She waited, poised in a way hunting had taught her- still and quiet enough to avoid spooking easily startled prey. The idea that Finnick was prey rankled her but there was nothing else to fall back on, so she held the position until the ghost of life flickered back into his features.

"Yeah?" He finally asked, like nothing had happened. Gale's words came back to her- he was mentally preset once to the best of his knowledge. But he had also admitted that he hadn't paid too much attention, which gave room for hope to take seed.

She could ask him about his little episode, or if she should stop touching him altogether, or even what he meant by his string of apologies the other night. But Katniss had a feeling that nothing would come out of those, save for perhaps further trauma on Finnick's part. So she tried to find something neutral- and fruitful.

"Do you remember anything?"

He laughed hoarsely, and she saw a hint of the boy of the sea she'd only really known for such a little while. "I'm not crazy, Everdeen. I know things- no matter what they say I know things."

His jumbled words were at odds with his even tone, but she believed him. Though the bracelet cutting into her own wrist read _mentally disoriented_, when push came to shove she'd have to trust that she was still capable. And that meant he must have been too.

"Alright then, Odair, tell me the things you know." They shared a furtive a grin.

"Well I know my name, and what things are called. I know that we're somewhere that's not anywhere I've ever been. I know secrets- a _lot_ of secrets. I know that your eyes are grey and sometimes they cloud over when you think no one's looking." By the end, his voice had gained strength and he was no longer looking past her but through to her center. She shivered, then made a motion that indicated under other circumstances she'd hit him playfully.

"Cute, bet that goes over well in-" Before she could cause any more damage she cut herself off. "What do you remember after the arena?"

Glum sobriety overtook his features. While he still looked present, that tenuous spark of life was gone. "Not too much. There was... fighting. I think I was fighting Enobaria? Yes, her... but it was over pretty fast. She went down, I got Peeta and told him to meet you and-" He screwed up his features, hunting through the tangled timeline. "I... was going to bring him but... I think that's when Chaff got me. In the head- I couldn't see but I'm pretty sure the electrocution gave him a heart attack. I thought I was-"

Katniss would have stopped him if he hadn't stopped himself. They both knew he had to keep going, but he was fraying at the ends and if they didn't step carefully he'd unravel. Pain made its heavy home in her chest while she waited out the silence.

"I woke up here. I didn't know where it was- someone told me, but they said they were saying it again. I can't really keep it in my head-"

"-Thirteen. District Thirteen."

He looked at her like she had grown another head before he nodded. "Thirteen. Thirteen, Thirteen, Thirteen. I asked for- Johanna but she..." His lips moved to finish the sentence but sound had left him. Katniss leaned in, asking permission with her eyes before placing her hand against his head. He leaned into the touch, though part of her was expecting him to break away after long.

"The Capitol has her. And then I asked about Annie and they wouldn't say but I know what that means. I know that- she's- not here. But I got you out. So it's okay, everything's going to be okay. You'll be okay because you're here and that's how it's supposed to be."

_Supposed to be_. Her body was reacting before her mind caught up with it- muscles tightened, jaw pinched together, eyes blazed. She withdrew, feeling almost burnt, and for a moment she wondered why her chest was heaving violently.

_He knew_. There were large chunks missing of the picture; namely, what in the world was really going on. But the Capitol wouldn't interrupt their own Games to rescue the tributes they themselves placed in the arena. Whoever had masterminded their escape had Finnick on their side, or at least filled in on their plans.

Anger, hot and dark and sticky, unfurled in her stomach. Its black fingers rooted in her fleshy insides and her physical senses became secondary to the maelstrom of her thoughts. She wanted to hit him, really _hit_ him and not just flail at her target and hope to get lucky. Wipe that _arrogant surety_ from his features-

-But there was no arrogance there. When she looked at him, there was only confusion and pain that ran from his skin to his bones. Grief was an iron jacket on his frame, the only thing cutting through it was a vague, fuzzy hope.

The fight bled from her leaving only tiredness in its wake. There wasn't just that nebulous plan to think about: there were the other tributes, hostages, that hadn't escaped. So consumed with trying to orient herself, she hadn't considered who _hadn't_ made it out. Being mad at a pawn for _being_ a pawn was useless and painful.

Finnick was looking at her owlishly. Her mind conjured the fleeting image of him being swallowed the by the sheets and pillows of his bed. She glanced down at her lap.

"I'm sorry." The cliché was heavy and stupid on her tongue, but he wasn't versed in her silence like Gale- it needed to be said. Later, when she had a chance to let the anger seep away into some dark place where it couldn't hurt them, she'd show him what sorrow and empathy felt like. For now, this would have to do.

"It's going to be okay," he mumbled- reassuring her or himself or trying to find something to hang onto she couldn't say. Like her apology, it was clumsy, but just as necessary. So she echoed him: "It's going to be okay."

The lie cut into her already tender heart. Katniss dug her fingers into the tight plastic bracelet around her wrist before pushing back the chair and standing up. Finnick seemed to startle and flail, but she couldn't bring herself to touch him again. Her rage threatened to burn her; she walked out without a word, the strongest she felt since she woke up.

The was only one thing she was sure of: she needed answers. Real ones.

* * *

**A/N**: Well _this_ is horribly late. The semester is starting to reach its end so I've been buried under papers and exams- I tried to get this out last Monday, and then this Monday, and when that failed I tried to write a double chapter but obviously none of that worked out. My apologies- hopefully I'll be better about things as summer comes up.

Thank you all for sticking with this story, leaving such wonderful reviews, and basically being the best audience an author could hope to have! You're all wonderful!


	12. Elucidate

_Elucidate_

Apparently, emotional strength could only last you so long.

Whatever had happened to her, whatever drugs were still in her system and whatever damage her mind had taken (along with the rest of her) were nothing to scoff at. Katniss had made it approximately fifteen steps away from the ward where Finnick was before her vision swam and she toppled against the wall. The once-manageable hallway warped and twisted, blurry and out of focus in her already poor vision. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, and for a dizzying second she thought she might actually empty it all over the floor.

She didn't, though. Through a monumental effort and a couple of long, deep breaths she was able to push past the sensation. It wasn't entirely eradicated and would probably rear its ugly head sometime sooner than later. But it was enough for now; enough for her to push herself from the wall and make her way down the length of the hallway and reach the door at the end.

It occurred a little belatedly that anything could be on the other side. If Thirteen was capable of engineering a way to scoop tributes out of the arena, defying everything the Capitol had created and enforced, what else could they do? She hadn't gotten in trouble for being out of her bed yet, but that didn't mean she was safe. That didn't mean any of them were- and chances were good that danger was closer here than back in the artificial jungle. Not only had Thirteen rebelled once but twice and _survived_. For seventy five years they had lasted, and if Snow didn't find them here and eradicate them, then someone within the forgotten district might.

Except Katniss was beyond caring if she was alive or dead. In fact, she wasn't sure which was preferable now, with everything burning to the ground around her. So instead of ruminating on the possibility of entering a space prohibited to the likes of herself, she gripped the handle and pushed the unlocked door open.

It was brighter here. The lights were stronger, though all of the austere accommodations- the large table, the panels full of screens and buttons, the chairs, the metal cabinets- were just as sharp and cold as everything else in this underground bunker. It took her vision time to adjust, as much as it would at any rate. For the first time since waking, though, she wished that she couldn't see. Because then she wouldn't have to glimpse the face of her former (and probably _pseudo_ since day one) mentor.

"_Haymitch_."

When he laughed- a sound like cat claws on concrete- she wanted to dig her nails into his unkept face. His smirk was dead from every angle and in every way, but it served as little consolation that the supposed mastermind (or at least willing participant) in the destruction of her home and the peril of everyone in the districts was still alive. And sitting there like he had some excuse to be broken.

"Well if it isn't everyone's sweetheart," he replied, cutting her like shards of a broken mirror.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why, miss me?"

"As if I could."

He clucked at her, like she was some toddler coming to illogical conclusions. Katniss felt like red was filling her up- not just anger or frustration or embarrassment but the sun's red rays, blood's red spray. Her fingernails bit into the heels of her palms as she attempted to control herself.

"-Ah- Miss Everdeen..." Another voice spoke up and trailed off, and Katniss only then noticed that she and Haymitch were not the room's only occupants. Plutarch was there, along with Fulvia Cardew. She supposed she should have been thankful that the looming, impenetrable presence of President Coin wasn't there as well to witness her exchange with the strangely-sober slob she'd once trusted.

"She's not going to give you the same respect, Heavensbee," Haymitch offered with a snort. Katniss took a step forward and he raised a challenging brow at her.

"Tell me what's going on, Haymitch. Everything."

"You sure you're not going to swoon?"

The sting of her nails wasn't enough to keep herself in line, so she opted to press her teeth against her bottom lip as well. "I need the _truth_ now."

Plutarch made a sound to interrupt them again, but Haymitch waved a hand at him in a blatant gesture to _shut up_. He then leaned in, elbows tucked onto his knees and dim-eyed gaze growing just a hair sharper as he took in Katniss' form. Her sloppy braid, her most-likely damaged skin, the wild fervor that seized her entire frame. He grinned, like he was going to eat her.

"Is that so?" The words were purposefully slow in making their way from his lips. "I heard that Hawthorne filled you in already. About what happened to Twelve, the end of the game- about Peeta and Odair too."

Katniss' pulse quickened to a throb in her throat. "You were in on it."

"From the beginning."

"From the beginning," she echoed, sounding smaller and quieter than she felt before adding, "... So it was you. You did all of this."

"Not all of it, I couldn't have done all of it by myself."

"That's not what I'm asking, Haymitch."

His eyes were dead again, and the smile looked more like a twisted shadow of a grimace than anything else. When he spoke again, his words weren't quite resigned but they came close, treading on the line between heavy and smug.

"Yeah, sweetheart. It was me."

_-Here's some advice. Stay alive. -All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere in my drinking and I'll stay sober enough to help you. -So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality. -Oh excellent. She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I gonna tell her stylist?_

_-Katniss, when you're in the arena... remember who the enemy is. _

Her throat burned and her eyes followed suit as she launched forward, nails finding their home in the tired flesh of his face. Haymitch flinched but didn't fight her, just stayed still until Plutarch wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her away. Battle-honed instincts had her flinging wildly, trying to catch her attacker in the head while she screamed death threats she didn't hear or remember after the fact.

The words _injection_ and _tranquilizer_ were tossed around but the only full sentence that registered in Katniss' frenzy was Haymitch's half-laughed, half-growled, "Nah, let her get it out her system. Thought you wanted a Mockingjay, not a clipped-wing canary." Still, the meaning was lost to her other than the fact that for the first time since waking in Thirteen someone was advocating against pumping her full of more drugs. It was something, but it wasn't enough.

Nothing could be enough.

The moment she was back on the ground and standing on her own, the door opening let a chilling silence sneak in. Plutarch and Fulvia froze, and even Haymitch stilled a little. Katniss didn't want to turn around, especially not when another new voice cut through the heaviness.

"Is there a problem here?"

And one small, saving grace vanished as Alma Coin stepped neatly over the threshold. Seconds ticked by, and Katniss didn't have to turn around since the older woman promptly took a seat right in her line of sight. If she had anything else to say on the state of things, she kept quiet. Haymitch's face was bleeding lightly, Katniss' chest heaved, Plutarch looked too out of sorts for someone who had a hand in an almost-revolution. Fulvia was the only one whose composure remained intact, and maybe on a different day, in a different time, Katniss would have been impressed.

"No problem," Plutarch hemmed, clearing his throat and taking a seat one space away from Coin's beside Fulvia. Haymitch just swung back in so he was facing the table, leaving Katniss the only one standing. Coin was staring serenely ahead, saying nothing and doing nothing as she clearly waited for her to take a seat as well.

Like a child, Katniss refused. She stepped closer, bracing her hands against the chair directly across from Thirteen's president, but kept her expression stony and remained standing. Apparently, you didn't amass the entirely of the rebels' seventy five years worth of power without learning how to choose your battles. Once Katniss was standing but still, Coin started.

"I'd hoped to have this discussion under more amenable circumstances, but this is as good a time as any." Meeting no resistance (or reply) she continued, "You know some of what is happening, I am sure. If you don't remember, I am-"

"I know who you are."

Coin examined her for a few moments, and Katniss felt like an unruly school girl under the weight of her gaze. "Not all of our survivors are so fortunate to retain the ability to remember all of this new information, Miss Everdeen." As diplomatic as her words were, Katniss stomach still clenched. "You must be aware, then, that things are not well in Panem. People are dying, the Capitol is facing as much danger as the districts are. Even before the end of the Quarter Quell revolution was catching. It has been sped up through careful plans but the basic elements were already in place."

That was when Katniss really did want to sit. Even Gale's story had been sugar coated compared to this. She should have felt good- reality, no matter how grim, was preferable to the sweet, lulling fiction fed by both the Capitol and those who even dared to defy it. But that small feeling only increased until she was surprised she could see above the lip above the long table.

She cleared her throat, trying to sound somewhat competent. "And I need to know this because-?"

"You already know the answer to that, Miss Everdeen." Coin didn't lean in, didn't raise her voice. Just sat there, holding Katniss' gaze unblinking. "You _are_ the spark. You have been since the moment you volunteered. And now you need to become more than a firestarter."

"A... fighter?"

"An inferno."

Plutarch raised one finger, recovered from the previous stuggle and Coin's appearance. "As you probably know, your mockingjay has become a symbol for the rebels, something to hold onto. But it's not enough to drive an entire overthrow of the government. So we need someone with a real voice and real presence to head this. We need to make _you_ into a mockingjay."

Katniss said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek. Plutarch's chipper tone had little effect on her, the significance of the mockingjay already dull. It was Coin's unshakeable, immutable, entirely uniform demeanor that drove an icy anchor into her stomach and pulled her down into nonexistence. She couldn't say anything, had no idea how to even form words, but she was saved the trouble.

"You'll begin as soon as your treatment is complete, so prepare yourself for a schedule. More details will follow when you are healthier."

And Coin was done. She stood, walked towards the door and hand her hand on the latch when Katniss finally found her tongue.

"No."

The president froze, as did every occupant of the room aside from Haymitch. Katniss could almost hear the ticking of Plutarch's mockingjay watch, counting down her time in the arena. Her death was probably moments away, and she was ready for it. Even after Coin nodded once.

"Still addled. The medications tend to do that. Plutarch, see her back to her room. She's not ready yet and time is running short. Miss Everdeen-" Katniss stiffened. "-I'd advise against wandering away from your IV drip in the future. It will only prolong your infirmary stay."

Even surrounded by Fulvia, Plutarch, and Haymitch in Coin's wake, Katniss was consumed with the dizzying sensation of being utterly and completely alone.

* * *

**A/N**: And after months and months, she's back! Just in time to be super late and show up to the late author awards after the thing's over and the trophies are packed up. Boo.

So as a gift for your patience you get... exposition you're already familiar with. Oops! I had far too much writing antagonistic Haymitch and Katniss- there will be plenty more in the way of that coming up, along with more Finnick and an appearance by Peeta. Thank you so much for still holding on hope and staying tuned in. This story is _not_ dead, no matter how long I sometimes take. You're literally the best audience a writer could ask for.

And though it might be too much to ask, please keep dropping those incredible reviews!


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